Future Husband
by VanillaAshes
Summary: Every little girl dreams about her future husband - even little Black Widow. How can a simple thing like reading somebody's diary change the course of a relationship? One-shot. Romanogers. Rated M for mild violence.


**Author's Note:**

 **Summary: Every little girl dreams about her future husband - even little Black Widow. How can a simple thing like reading somebody's diary change the course of a relationship? One-shot. Romanogers.**

 **I received a prompt _months_ ago, even before I started writing the 'prompt story' on ThisVioletOfMine's page. And I loved the idea, it has gone through about eight complete rewrites and I'm now ready to post it. **

**The prompt came from IndianSweetGirl - _Meghan's dear future husband and I got an idea of romanogers story or one shot. How about Natasha have a diary in which she wrote which type of husband she want and Steve read her diary by mistake because you know how moral man he is. What type of husband Natasha want every detail match with Steve. So if you can do do it with some anger sad and happy ending._**

* * *

Natalia Romanova had been taught the important lesson of not getting close to anybody. It was a well-known fact in the Red Room that if two girls get close, they are matched up to fight against each other - and half the time, that ended in one's demise. Therefore, the more you liked somebody, the less you interacted.

It's not always possible to be completely alone and even little Natalia - who had been in the Red Room since birth, instead of a few years old, like others - was caught up in making friends occasionally. There was always the odd glance or face pulled at each other; throughout the course of a month, she and Liliya became more courageous and began to explore different places to do this.

Liliya was slightly more dangerous, once sticking her tongue out in the middle of a training exercise. Half the class went tense, waiting for the teacher to notice - but she didn't. That sprung the start of the strong bond between them. The two of them managed to effectively avoid being caught together and never faced each other in a match to the death.

It was an entire year before they began their diaries - the most risky thing that any child could do - and both had different hiding places.

One night, when Natalia had slipped out of her cuffs and joined Liliya on her bed, they began talking about their futures - which neither of them had been guaranteed.

"My future husband will be really weak so he can't hit me," Liliya announced and wrote it down.

"Well, _my_ husband will be _really_ strong because he'll fight for me and kick anybody who tries to hurt me," Natalia countered, also writing it down. "And he can make candy and bread and…"

"Curry!" Liliya supplied when she paused. "All for us."

Natalia agreed quickly. "Never again will I go bed hungry when I'm married."

"Me either!"

"She's coming," one of the girls nearest to the door whispered hurriedly. All the girls laid down on their backs, pretending to be asleep or actually forcing themselves to go sleep as Natalia - and one other girl - ran back to their beds, forcing their hands through the cuffs and lying down too. They listened to the footsteps and Natalia felt a sharp panic in her stomach - the diaries, had Liliya hidden them in time? They had their names on them!

"Extra training tomorrow as some of you believe you don't need to sleep when it's scheduled. Sleep is not to be taken for granted." The harsh words came before the teacher left. Nobody moved, and eventually, all of them fell asleep - it was times like these when they are pitted against each other more and the relationship between each child becomes tense. It's hard to not think 'which of my friends will kill me, or will I be forced to kill'.

However, Natalia couldn't help herself; five minutes later, she opened her eyes and glanced over to Liliya who gave her a wink before they both silently chuckled to themselves and fell asleep.

* * *

Over the next few months, Natalia's fighting skills increased exponentially, her confidence growing with every second. The energy between her and Liliya fueled her to be better than the other girls, mainly to show off to her friend. Both of them were great fighters, outliving the last twenty girls who died in the last six months - four of them by Natalia's hand. Natalia was the third youngest in her group and the smallest altogether. She wasn't always the third youngest, but the weak never lasted long.

It was during Liliya's fight with a girl who was three years older than her, a girl who had already gone through puberty and was in her teens, when Natalia and Liliya made a mistake. Their eyes met when Liliya was struggling, and Natalia - who was so much better at finding weaknesses - pointed to her own right thigh. Liliya instantly took action and attacked her opponent's right thigh, sending her to the floor in pain. And even though Liliya won, the teacher noticed the shortcoming.

"Weak." The teacher announced. "Let's see if you can take down our best and brightest - the next Black Widow."

A girl - or woman - in her mid-teens, practically an adult, walked over to them. All the girls feared anybody dubbed 'the next Black Widow'- they were the meanest. It meant instant death for whomever they went against.

Natalia watched with slightly widened eyes in slow motion as her friend was killed. She felt her breath leave her when Liliya breathed her last and her vision blurred with tears, but she quickly blinked them away - weakness could not been seen.

"Natalia - your turn."

Natalia stepped forward, her eyes glancing down at Liliya's dead body. She'd always known that friendship would get her killed, but she never really thought about it getting Liliya killed. She was willing to accept the consequences, to die, but _this…_ An uncontrollable anger built up in her that this _person_ just killed her friend. As they stood apart from each other, both bowing and raising their arms, her face hardened.

It doesn't matter what she did, she was still dead - she was nine and going up against a potential Black Widow meant she was already dead. But she wasn't going down without a fight - she _would_ have revenge for Liliya and make her opponent suffer.

The match started and when the same move that was used against her which had been used on Liliya, something inside of Natalia broke and she launched at the woman. She used every ounce of her small frame to wrap around her opponent before stretching, her foot digging into the back of the knee as she pulled of the opposite arm, causing the older girl to lose her balance and fall to the ground.

Natalia heard a crack but wasn't sure where it came from, but she didn't have time to find the source as she found herself skidding across the floor, her arm instantly stinging. But that didn't hold her back; she was up from the floor in seconds, her legs managing to make their way around the other girl's throat - but she wasn't strong enough to actually do any damage, so after a few punches, she quickly flipped down, using the speed to send her opponent onto the ground.

Suddenly, she saw her opportunity, launching her knee into the girl's back and wrapping her arms tightly around her neck. Usually, at this point, you'd look to see if you should take the kill or stand down - but Natalia didn't want to stand down, so she quickly repositioned her arms and snapped the other girl's neck before letting her fall to the ground and standing up, facing her teacher and standing still.

Natalia patiently waited for the punishment for her actions - but it never game. That was the moment that she became the next potential Black Widow and was the last moment she had the potential to make a friend.

* * *

Natalia was ready to move on, ready for the KGB. This was her life. She was an assassin and nothing else. However, before she left, she made a trip into her old sleeping quarters, behind a rock and retrieved the two diaries that hadn't been touched in nine years. For some reason, through everything, she'd kept these with her.

The two diaries weren't something constantly on her mind, but they revolved around the best part of her childhood. And even though the two diaries were in the bottom of a box which mainly held different types of weapons, it didn't make them less important than her other possessions. In fact, they had lasted so long and were still completely intact - they were probably the most important items.

* * *

Steve should have known when he joined the Avengers that he would be the go-to guy for everyone's heavy lifting - hell, even Banner would ask him to carry the heavy stuff for him because he was too reluctant to tap into the Other Guy's strength. He sighed as he shifted the large box from one shoulder to the other - it wasn't getting too heavy for him, but the corners kept digging into his neck uncomfortably and he really just wanted to put it down. He'd been about to carry Natasha's box of belongings to her new room - as Tony was remodelling this one - but she'd stopped him as she dug through her things and added more to it. "You know, we can make more than one trip - you don't need to stress over packing it all right now."

"I don't want to spend all day moving my things when in a few weeks I just have to move them back again," Natasha replied as she picked up a bunch of her clothes and put them into a different box.

Steve groaned as he switched the box to his right shoulder again. His arms were starting to cramp from holding it in this position for so long. "Well I'm taking this box to your new room, so why don't you pack everything into that other one you've got and I'll come back for it, okay?"

Natasha looked at him and nodded. "Sure." Before he left the room, she called after him. "Could you empty and bring the box back with you, please? I don't know how I have so many things!"

He chuckled and agreed before making the short trek to her new quarters. He quickly emptied the box onto the bed as gently as he could - he thought he'd seen her haphazardly throw some breakables in there - and paused as two really old books - at least he presumed they were books - came tumbling out, landing on the top of the pile.

Steve picked them up - they seemed rather out of place compared to the rest of Natasha's belongings - and eyed them. There was writing in them, but it must have been in another language, because he could not decipher a word of it - either that or it was really poorly written.

He turned when somebody walked in, expecting it to be Natasha, only to see that it was Vision. It seemed that Natasha was able to convince somebody else to help out, too. "Good afternoon, Steve," he greeted, placing the box of things down onto the bed.

"Hey, Vision," Steve replied. "Can you read this?" He asked curiously, wanting to make sure that he really wasn't getting old.

"It's in Russian," Vision informed him as he flicked through one of them gently. "It appears to be a book about the perfect husband."

Steve felt his eyebrows furrowed in confusion - why would Natasha have that? "Perfect husband? Are you sure?"

"Yes, quite certain," he confirmed. "Would you like me to print a translation out for you?"

Steve nodded with a shrug. "Sure. Thanks, Vision." He said with a smile before turning back to Natasha's things and quickly organising them neatly before picking up the box and walking back to her room - or old room.

"There you are," Natasha greeted the second he stepped back into the room and took the box before shoving some more things in. "Right, that's everything." She announced with a relaxed smile.

He picked up two boxes and followed Natasha - who was holding the biggest of the three boxes - back to her new, or temporary, room. It was as they were walking that Steve realised - especially in comparison to everybody else in the Avengers - Natasha did not have a lot of things. All of her things fit in a total of five boxes - two being reused - and the boxes weren't actually all that big.

Sure, he didn't have many personal belongings, but he actually owned more clothes than she did - and that was surprising because _she_ was the one that took him shopping and ended up buying him the majority of them. Wait… she bought, clothes too - where were they? "Hey, Nat. Where are your clothes?" He asked; maybe she had already moved them?

"Either in that box," she answered, her elbow pointing to the medium sized box he was carrying, "or in my go-bag."

"You have more clothes than this," he replied with confusion.

Natasha actually chuckled with a small head shake before she walked into her temporary new room and put the box down. "I don't keep all of my clothes here, Steve. I have an apartment for that."

Steve did a double take as he put the boxes down. "You have an apartment?" He questioned, receiving a confirming nod. "I didn't know that - is that where all of your personal belongings are?"

Natasha looked at him, her face glimmering with a teasing smirk. "Are you saying that my room here is not personal?" At his eyes widening slightly, realising exactly how his question sounded, she continued. "No, I generally keep my personal things close to me - if not in my go-bag then here. I don't really live at my apartment; it's more of a storage location which I could live in or lay low for…" she paused, "well, as long as I need to."

He nodded, though it was a strange concept to understand. It was taking a little adjustment to realise that most of the Avengers didn't fully live on base, like he did. Tony had his tower, Clint his farm, Banner mentioned his house a few times, and now Natasha had an apartment. He was unsure about Wanda, but knew that Rhodey and Falcon definitely had a premise outside of the base, as they were constantly gone. At least he knew that Vision was a permanent house guest - he wasn't even a year old.

"You seem deep in thought," Natasha commented, pulling him out of his thoughts. "What's on your mind?"

"I didn't know you had an apartment; I thought you just lived here - it makes me want my own place away from here," Steve admitted, before adding a quiet, "if I could afford it."

Natasha chuckled at him. "Being an Avenger doesn't really pay well. But you could probably afford an apartment - it just depends on where you look. There are some bad neighbourhoods which go really cheap, and as long as you don't mind doing all of the work and securing your place, you'll be fine."

Steve tilted his head slightly. "What do you mean?"

She looked at him silently for a few long moments before an amused smile made its way to her lips. "I need to take some of this junk back to my apartment. I like to be able to put all of my things into one large box when I'm here." She informed him. "I'll show you where my apartment is and what exactly I mean."

That sounded slightly ominous. "Alright, why not?" He agreed, hoping he hadn't just made a huge mistake.

Natasha smiled. "Great, we'll leave in a few hours - I should probably sort through everything first."

Steve thought of the disorganised pile on her bed and how long it would take to sort that mess out into anything resembling sorted. "Uh… let's drop the stuff off at the apartment first. It's getting late as it is, anyway." He suggested.

"No. I need to sort what I'm taking home, old man. It's only four, and we haven't had dinner," Natasha shot back instantly. "I'll find you later, and if you're too tired from being old, we'll go tomorrow."

He huffed indignantly. "I've still got plenty of energy, thank you very much! In fact, I'll help you sort your things." He declared.

"No," she replied with a disgusted tone. "I can do it. Besides, I don't want you looking through my things and judging me."

That just made him more indignant - _what kind of asshole does she take me for? -_ but he could tell she was dangerously close to telling him to 'fuck the fuck off', as was one of her favourite sayings. He sighed and backed off. "Alright, fine. Text me when you're done."

"Will do," Natasha said before turning her attention to her belongings.

With that, Steve turned and left to find other things to pass the time with.

* * *

Steve decided to clean his room; it was already spotless, but cleaning out somebody else's room gave him the motivation to do some cleaning. He had just finished a thorough clean when Vision walked in and handed him a printed booklet.

"The translation you requested," Vision informed him.

Steve accepted it. "Thanks, Vis."

"What would you request I do with the original?" Vision then asked.

"Oh, it's Natasha's; just return it to her," Steve replied absentmindedly. With that, Vision left and Steve began to read the translation. His face changed to one of confusion as his eyes flickered over the first page - this wasn't written out like a book, but rather notes. He flicked to the next page and read it briefly. Vision must have given him the wrong thing; this was just a description for the perfect husband - definitely something Natasha wouldn't have. Sam must have convinced Vision to give him a fake translation and described Steve to make him think he was Nat's 'perfect husband'. Damn, and he almost fell for it.

He decided to flick through the document; they had actually gotten quite a lot written for such a short amount of time; maybe they'd just copied and pasted it from something else - they had done that to him before. He really needed to learn how to do that. However, his thoughts were suddenly pulled from his mind when Natasha practically swung into the room and ripped the translation from his hand.

"If you ever read or look through my personal belongings again, I'll kill you," Natasha threatened him before instantly leaving the room.

Steve just stared after her; there were many reasons that he was stunned into silence and the realisation that he'd just read Natasha's diary was one of them. Wait… her diary, so those were her thoughts? When? Now? No, she couldn't have written that recently; the paper was old, wrinkled and discoloured. Once again he was pulled out of his thoughts, this time by his phone ringing in his pocket. His face almost went pale as he read the message from Natasha.

'Meet me in the garage in 5.'

Grabbing a different jacket, as the one he was currently wearing was dusty from moving the boxes, he headed to the garage, hoping he wouldn't regret it.

* * *

Steve got to the garage within two minutes; his room wasn't that far and he didn't bump into anybody on the way out. He noticed Natasha already in her car and she whistled him over. Slipping into the passenger's side of the car, he looked around - he hadn't ever actually been in her car. Even though she constantly 'borrowed' his motorbike, he never needed to borrow her car. "Where are we going?"

Natasha was silent for a few seconds as she started the car and sped off. "To show you my apartment, remember?"

He nodded; her voice was so deadpan that he wondered if she was still bothered about him going through her personal belongings - she'd seemed pissed at the time, but was cool and collected now. After a few minutes he initiated a safe subject of conversation and the two of them talked for the two hour journey.

Natasha pulled up into a double storage garage that fit her car perfectly and had two motorbikes to one side - he hadn't known she owned those.

"Nice bikes," Steve complemented, admiring how they shined. She must have taken amazingly good care of them.

She glanced at them. "Thanks - one is Clint's," she informed him before getting out of the car.

"Cool…" He replied, not sure what else to say. He followed her lead and got out of the car, staying behind her as she led the way across the street. "So, how long have you lived here?" He asked conversationally.

"A while," Natasha answered vaguely. "It's a consistent home; I'll never use it as a safehouse, unlike some of my other apartments."

He hummed in response, shoving his hands into his pockets as they continued to walk - how far away _was_ this place? "If it doesn't pay well to be an Avenger, how can you afford multiple apartments?" He questioned, both teasing and genuinely curious.

Natasha glanced at him before slipping down an alleyway. "Being an Avenger doesn't pay too well, but I also worked for S.H.I.E.L.D. and contributed in other ways - that paid a lot." She answered as she pulled down a metal ladder and started heading up.

Steve furrowed his brows as he followed her up the ladder, wondering why they were entering the shady way. "Is the front door out of operation?"

"Something like that - it was causing me too many issues," Natasha replied.

He couldn't help but chuckle and pulled himself over the railing of the fire escape as she unlocked a small keypad, then typed in a code before doing something else to open the window-sized heavy duty door. "I'm sure your neighbours don't ever find your comings and goings suspicious." He teased, standing back and waiting. "Or maybe this is one of those neighbourhoods where everybody turns a blind eye to everything…" He mused.

"There used to be a lot of crime in this area, then… a certain rumour went around about everybody being beat up - big gangs and cartel included. Crime rates have fallen since then." She said before slipping into the apartment.

He ducked down and followed her inside, taking a moment to appreciate the light color scheme, the spaciousness of the main room, and the tidiness that could be found in every nook and cranny. There were lots of shelves all over the living room. He couldn't see where the front door was and presumed it must have been somewhere else. He whistled appreciatively. "Nice place you got here."

"Like I said, it doesn't matter _where_ you have your home, it's what you do with it. Also, you don't need to worry about crime - you can defend yourself." Natasha explained simply; he nodded along. She crossed over to the kitchen. "Did you want anything to eat? Black coffee? Fries? Feel free to have a look. I don't keep anything fresh, since most of the time it goes out of date."

He shrugged it off. "Coffee would be great." He leant against one of the walls, absently scanning over one of the only shelves that didn't have doors on them. It was filled with random ornaments, ones he couldn't imagine Natasha having owned.

"Birthday and Christmas presents from Clint's children - he lets them choose," Natasha answered his silent question as she handed him the coffee. "I suppose I should give you a tour?" She said, almost as if the offer was physically painful.

"It would be nice to know where all of the exits are if you decide to try and murder me," Steve joked.

Natasha let out a small laugh. "Like I would dirty my carpet with your blood - do you know how hard that would be to clean?"

Steve bobbed his head in a half nod - he knew how difficult it was to get blood out of clothes, and it must have been even harder for carpet. He sipped his hot coffee and stepped further into the room. The L-shaped couch was sitting in the middle of the room, facing the shelves - he presumed it was facing something specifically - perhaps the TV was behind one of the cupboard doors. "Do you come here often?"

"Sometimes," she answered ominously.

He nodded. "This place is actually really nice."

"You wanted to see how to have an apartment on your budget," she pointed out.

Steve looked at her for a moment, truly grateful that she would go out of her way to not only tell him but _show_ him the potential of any place. "Right. I mean, this place is really nice… so what tips do you have for me?"

"Provide your own security - if it's impossible to break into, then you can live anywhere," Natasha began. "Make sure you have a good ceiling and floor; you don't want them drilling in that way - or any leaks."

Looking up at the ceiling, Steve wondered if Natasha had chosen this place purely for a security reason - after all, coming through the window was a hassle as it was. He doubted many people would even attempt that route. "Good ceiling and floor," he repeated.

"This is the top floor, so the ceiling is very secure, thicker than most," Natasha informed him before stomping on the floor slightly. "I have a steel sheet on the floor, then hardwood, then this flooring."

"That's a lot of work," Steve commented. He glanced around. "How do you get air in here?" It was literally a cell block.

Natasha pulled a hatch on the window that was about three inches by four inches, with a sheet of thin metal. It let in air, but nothing else - for all Steve knew, it was waterproof, too. "There're two vents in my room that work the same way."

His eyes drifted to the unopened door. "And your bedroom leads out into the hallway of the main building?" He half asked, half stated.

"No. My front door is behind those shelves," she indicated the shelving unit near them.

He could honestly say that he hadn't been expecting that. "Nat," he said, looking at her; he just couldn't clear his mind. When she looked at him expectantly, he continued. "I really am sorry about invading your privacy earlier - that really was not my intention."

Her hands came to rest on her hips as she hummed in disbelief. "Then what were you doing?" She asked before adding a list of options. "Trying to embarrass me? Work out who I used to be? Use it as blackmail?"

Steve furrowed his eyebrows; that hadn't been his intention at all. "No… I was trying to…" He drifted off - he hadn't actually thought too much over what he was doing. "Find out what you liked, for, like… your birthday."

"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard - you don't even know my _actual_ birthday," Natasha grunted in reply, sipping her coffee with a high level of calmness that did not match her voice.

"Is that what matters? I didn't mean to invade your privacy - far from it. Had I known it meant so much to you, I wouldn't have even glanced at it," he told her honestly, sighing. Next time, he was not going to read anything, and especially not ask for something to be translated; he didn't want to screw up this friendship. "If you want me to, I can leave," he offered.

She shook her head. "Don't be ridiculous. I'm not going to kick you out of my house," Natasha replied with a roll of her eyes.

A huge relief went over him; even though she seemed truly pissed at him, it wasn't going to come between them and he knew that. "Thanks," he said gratefully and couldn't stop himself from asking, "so… when _is_ your birthday?"

Natasha shook her head with disbelief, although she let out a small chuckle. "You're unbelievably nosy - you know that, right?"

"That's becoming apparent to me," he agreed, although he only found himself being nosy around Natasha. "You are, too."

"Possibly," she agreed with a small nod. "But, I'm a lot sneakier than you, I wouldn't get caught."

That was slightly disconcerting but extremely intriguing at the same time. "Does this mean you know more than I know you know about me?" He tested, half teasing.

Natasha smirked at him, raising her brows for a second. "There is a high probability that that is true."

Well, there were definite pros and cons about being sort-of friends with Natasha. "Lovely. Now, when's your birthday?" He pestered.

"That's not important, Mr. Fourth of July," Natasha teased, finishing her coffee and instantly washing out the cup.

He wanted to raise his eyebrows in surprise, but honestly, his birthday was the most corny one possible. She could have easily guessed it. He had a feeling she hadn't guessed, but she _could_ have. "It totally is important - you know _my_ birthday, why can't I know yours?"

"I told you, mine's not important," Natasha repeated. "But I'll answer any _other_ question you have," she replied, obviously tempting him.

"Uh…" He wasn't quite sure what else to ask. Why was her birthday such a big no-no? It's not like it was something you only told close friends. Sighing, he switched gears and thought of other things he'd been wondering about. "What's your favourite colour?" He internally kicked himself for the stupid question. He said stupid things when put on the spot.

Natasha raised a brow at him, clearly showing what she thought about that question. "Black." Then, without missing a beat, she added, "I presume yours are red, white and blue?"

"Light purple, actually." He teased. "I have no idea what would make you assume such a thing."

"A sneaking suspicion," she chuckled. "I can't believe you wasted that question."

He resisted the urge to stick his tongue out at her and thought of another question. "What's the highest level of education you received?"

"Who said that you get a second question?" Natasha asked.

Steve stared at her. "I thought you said you'd answer any other questions I had!" He defended.

She shook her head. "I said any other _question_. Singular."

"...Ah. Well, it's not my fault I didn't hear the word right! You said it all…" He trailed off, not knowing quite how to phrase the way her voice had sounded.

"What? Seductively?" Natasha suggested in a similar, but sexier, tone of voice. "Not my fault you weren't listening to me, Steve." His name came out just above a whisper.

He rather liked that tone. "I'm not sure I heard that, either - can you repeat it?" Semi-teasing.

"Hmm?" She hummed questioningly before leaning forward. "Steve?" She asked quieter, her breath tickling his ear. "Can you hear me now?"

Steve turned his head just a tiny bit so their faces were inches apart. "Loud and clear." He said with a small smirk.

A smile slowly took over her lips. "I might give you a tour of my bedroom after all," she said suggestively, holding her arm out in his direction, waiting for his response.

After less than a second of hesitation, he smiled down at her. She instantly got his signal and turned towards the door, pushing it open. He couldn't stop himself from checking her out before following her into the room, letting her close the door behind him.

* * *

It was three months later when Steve and Nat returned to her apartment to just get away from the base. They weren't officially together, though they were definitely together. She didn't want anybody to know and even though at first he was a little disheartened, it made sense.

He was contemplating whether or not to make porridge, as it was one of his favourites - although there were two ways to prepare it: the way he was brought up on, made with water, and the current technique, with milk.

"Porridge with milk or water?" He asked her, not making any attempt to move as Natasha's head was on his arm.

She hummed in thought for a moment. "With milk is more for a special occasion - we can have it tomorrow."

Steve racked his brain to work out what tomorrow was, but nothing jumped out. Why was tomorrow a special occasion? He knew it wasn't any sort of anniversary, but maybe he was wrong. He quickly did the math. "Happy… 67th-day anniversary?" He guessed.

Natasha laughed and shook her head. "No, no. It'll be my birthday."

A gasp left him as he sat up, practically pulling her with him. He had asked her several times since that day three months ago - usually pairing it with teasing over her diary. "Really? 22nd November is your birthday?"

She nodded. "Yes. Happy now?"

He pulled her into a long kiss. Steve knew this must have been a long brewing thought for her to tell him, and it was the best 67th-day anniversary present he had ever received!

* * *

 **Thank you for reading.**

 **And happy birthday to the Black Widow herself (sorta) Scarlett Johansson! (Almost forgot to post this before I went to sleep!)**


End file.
